


Not Safe

by BuckyCapRox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward Sexual Situations, BDSM, Bondage, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Depression, Hangover, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Rope Bondage, Sam is not Bucky's therapist, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Vomiting, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyCapRox/pseuds/BuckyCapRox
Summary: Bucky Barnes likes to be bound. Normally, Sam is his guy for this. One day Sam can't do it, and Bucky meets Steve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is finished. Chapters will be posted every few days.
> 
> Note: Sam is not Bucky's therapist, he is just another vet who goes to group therapy at the VA with Bucky.

Pacing, Bucky angrily snatched a burger wrapper from the floor. He slung it in the direction of the trash where it landed amongst other misses in a halo of debris around the can.

Giving up, he slumped down onto his couch and searched the cushions for his phone. It was only Monday evening. Wednesday was group therapy and Thursday evening was Bucky’s one on one with Sam. He needed something now. Eyeing the empty bottles on the floor, Bucky got on his hands and knees looking for one that might still have a sip. Nothing.

On his way up, he used the coffee table for leverage, knocking the slide from his pistol onto the carpet. Snatching it up, he laid it next to the rest of the disassembled weapon. Scanning the pieces, he contemplated putting it back together. The clip lay next to the neatly lined up rounds. The two rounds on the end had begun to roll, and he nudged them back into line. Picking up the clip, he slid one in with his thumb, then another, and another, till they were all in. He stared at the jumbled pieces of metal on the table, realizing the spring was missing. On his hands and knees, he brushed his palms over the carpet before hitting something hard. Fumbling it back onto the coffee table he shakily reassembled the weapon. Placing the slide onto the trigger housing, he was about to slide it into place. From there it would be easy to rack a round, squeeze the trigger. He paused, head slumping and took a breath, then another, before pulling the weapon apart again. He disassembled the weapon with trembling hands. Shoved all the pieces into a big pile.

Stumbling into the bedroom he found his phone on the dresser. There was almost no charge. Lying back, he called Sam. 

Sam answered on the third ring, “Hey man, what’s up”

“I’m having a rough day. Can we schedule a session tonight?”

“How rough are we talking?”

“Rough enough.”

“I’m out of town. Can you wait till Wednesday?”

Slumping to the floor, “I can’t wait that long.”

“Can we do this on the phone? Use the skills the therapist has been trying to get through to us?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“Use your words, Bucky. Tell me how you’re doing.”

“If your out of town, I can wait till Wednesday.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. “I don’t know what to do, Sam.”

“You need something now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you remember the club I took you to the first time? Where you could see how it was done?”

“Yeah. I remember it. Kinda hard to forget.”

“Go there. Ask for Steve. He knows his ropes. I’ll tell him your coming, and text you what time.”

Sighing, “Thanks man,” Bucky held the cool phone to his forehead. 

A half hour later Bucky’s phone chimed. The screen said “10:30.”

Looking at the time on the phone, he sighed. Bucky just had to make it through nine more hours. First, he tried sleeping, then TV, then the internet. With an hour and a half to go, he showered and sniffed a few shirts, putting on the cleanest one. Arriving at the club a half hour early, he hung back and watched some of the more outgoing people. A woman with long blond hair had another woman on her knees. In front of them was a man bound in leather. Sam usually used leather belts. They were strong and unmoving. If Bucky pulled there was no give. But they never did this here, in front of other people. Bucky was beginning to sweat. He tugged at his collar as he turned away from the bound man on the floor. Maybe this was a bad idea. How did he know he could trust this guy Steve? He jumped when someone brushed past him, his heart was hammering. 

A black man with an eye patch and a long leather coat was looking at him strangely. Taking a step back, Bucky found himself near the wall. Eye Patch stepped closer. “You okay, Son?” he asked low and smooth, placing his hand on Bucky’s elbow “This kind of thing is not for everyone.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay” Bucky said, “I’m looking for a guy named Steve.”

“Steve’s not usually here on Mondays.” He said, and Bucky’s heart sunk.

Bucky added “we have an appointment.”

“Oh,” The man smiled “You should have said so. Steve has a thing for precision. He never misses an appointment.”

At that moment, the man looked up. “Speak of the devil.”

A tall guy with short neat hair walked straight to them. Nodding at the man, he said “Nick.” Then turning to Bucky, he asked “Are you Bucky?” 

“Depends on who you are?” Bucky answered.

The man in leather smiled and gave Steve a quick salute before wandering away.

“Your friend Sam said you needed a little help tonight.” 

Bucky’s eyes dropped, he looked at Steve’s polished brown shoes, and pressed slacks. Bucky’s jeans were frayed at the hem, and his black boots were scuffed. One buckle was broken. It jingled every time he stepped with his left foot. Looking Steve straight in the eye, Bucky said, “You don’t get to put your dick anywhere near me. Did Sam tell you that?”

“He did.” Steve said with certainty. “We should take this somewhere more private.”

This guy Steve was tall, taller than Bucky, and his thin shirt allowed Bucky to see how strong he was. Bucky wanted a strong hand, that’s why he liked Sam. Taking a breath, he nodded at Steve.

Turning, Steve led the way, he took them deeper into the club, then up a set of stairs, down a quiet hall, then up another set of stairs. Bucky’s heart was pounding by the time they reached a door. Opening it, Steve led Bucky inside. The room was empty, except for a footlocker under a window. A thick burgundy curtain blocked the view outside. The wood floor was scuffed, worn to bare wood in spots. Steve closed the door behind Bucky. 

“Sam told me what you usually want. I use ropes. Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.” Bucky found himself clenching his fists, and eyeing the door. 

“Sam also told me you guys usually do this at his place. Is the club okay? Or, do you want a hotel or something?” Steve crossed his arms, he kept glancing at Bucky’s clenched fists.

“This is fine.”

“It doesn’t look fine. You don’t look fine.” Steve said, tugging the door open, “If you don’t want this, that’s cool.”

“No,” Bucky grabbed the door “Listen, I need this.” He pushed the door closed and leaned against it, he was only inches from Steve, and looked him in the eyes “It’s just an hour of your time man. I can pay you. I just need an hour.” 

After a pause, Steve said “keep your cash and lose your clothes.”

Immediately, Bucky stepped back and tugged off his jacket, sweatshirt and Henley. Next, he kicked his boots into the corner. One toe poked from his black sock. Steve stood in the center of the room, arms crossed. 

“How many layers are you wearing?” Steve asked.

Pausing, Bucky had begun to unbutton his pants. “Dunno? What I normally wear?” Unzipping his fly, Bucky glanced around, “Do you need to get anything ready?”

“I don’t use much besides the ropes. I keep my ropes neat. Get your clothes off and kneel in the center.” He pointed where he wanted Bucky.

Bucky shimmied out of his jeans and underwear at the same time. Throwing them onto the pile with his shirts he began to kneel, a long sleeve shirt and socks still on.

“Sam said you like to keep your shirt on. That may work with straps, but not with the rope. You have to take everything off.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then you wait till Thursday with Sam.”

Torn, Bucky stood, picked up his pants ready to put them back on. Sam chose this guy. Sam usually had good instincts. Taking a steadying breath, Bucky dropped the pants and tugged his shirt over his head. 

Bucky’s eyes never left the floor, he hated to see people’s expression when they first saw the scarring. He listened but Steve didn’t say anything. At least he didn’t say anything till Bucky started to kneel, “I said everything.”

With a loud sigh, Bucky stripped his socks and threw them towards the pile of clothes. 

“Are you usually this difficult?” Steve asked, draping a soft black cloth over Bucky’s eyes. Sam used goggles with the lenses painted black, sometimes a black mask, the cloth felt weird. Like he could just push it off if he wanted. Steve’s hands were warm where they placed Bucky into position. The ropes were less itchy than he thought they might be. Loop after loop, Bucky felt them bind his chest and shoulders. When Steve touched the scarring on his left shoulder, he said “Does this limit your movement?”

It took Bucky a second to find his words. “No” he said softly.

“Sam said you can handle all of the basic positons. If your arm hurts, you tell me.” He said. When Bucky didn’t answer, he stopped and said, “You need to respond when I ask questions.”

“Okay.” Bucky said.

Standing behind Bucky, Steve’s strong hands tugged Bucky’s arms behind his back. His elbows met. “Is this position going to work?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, and Steve let go, got back to work binding and wrapping. When Bucky was bound wrist to wrist behind his back, he could feel himself cocooned in the ropes. His elbows met, his chest pushed out, his head drooping, eyes closed. Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, guided him to lie on his side, then bound his legs. A hazy while later, Bucky realized he hadn’t felt Steve’s hands in a while. Immobilized, Bucky couldn’t move. He felt the knot inside his chest loosen and took a deep breath. It felt like the first air he had gotten all week. 

He drifted for a while, before he felt Steve’s warm hand on his ankle. “Color?” he asked. 

“Green” Bucky said with a soft voice that didn’t feel like his own. He breathed the word out, felt himself drift away.

Drifting for a while, it was over too soon. Warm hands were back on his ankles, and the ropes were slipping away. The cloth on his eyes tugged off, and Bucky blinked up at Steve. Unsmiling, Steve ran his hands over Bucky, rubbing the blood back into stiff muscles. Edging Bucky’s arms back to the front and rotating the shoulder in slow precise movements. He did the same for Bucky’s legs, pushing and rotating first ankles then knees.

“Are you a therapist?” Bucky mumbled low. Steve gave Bucky a half smile and a shake of the head. So, not a therapist. The last person to touch Bucky like that had been for physical therapy. 

Normally, after being bound, he told Sam a blanket and a coke was all he wanted, then to sleep it off. Sam respected his wishes, and let Bucky sleep in his bed, not the guest room.

But this was a whole new ball game. He was about a half hour from home before he would get to sleep it off. Bucky’s legs felt wobbly. Driving might be an issue. 

Tipping Bucky up, Steve draped a blanket over his shoulders, and held a Gatorade up to him. A striped straw poked from the hole. “You got a coke?” Bucky asked. 

“Drink this, then you can have a coke.” Steve said with a soft smile.

Tugging the straw out, Bucky dropped it to the floor then shakily chugged the orange bottle. Frowning, Steve took the bottle back.

“Hey,” Bucky groused.

“Come on. I’m not your maid.” He grumbled picking up the straw and wiping up the floor with a towel. “And if you chug this thing I’m not cleaning up your puke.”

“Why would I puke?” he tried to take the bottle from Steve, “I didn’t run a marathon. I lie on the floor for an hour.”

“Whatever.” Steve said releasing the bottle. 

Bucky slugged more back. He always hated the flavor of Gatorade. His stomach lurched, and he set the bottle down. The bottle sloshed some more onto the floor. Bucky thought he might need to lie down again. Steve was facing away, busy coiling rope. He glanced back at Bucky. 

Setting the coil down, Steve turned, put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and adjusted the blanket “Listen, you should lie down for a few minutes. There’s no reason to be a super hero. Lie down and take it easy.”

There was no pillow in the room, and Bucky lowered himself to the side, tried tucking his arm under his head. But, Steve was there and tugged Bucky’s head onto his thigh. He thread his fingers through Bucky’s long dark hair. Gentle slow motions over and over. 

Bucky woke on the hard floor. The half coiled rope still lay near the wall, and Steve’s hand kept petting his hair in long slow strokes. Steve was dozing, his head tipped forward on his chest, his eyes closed. His hand moved across Bucky’s temple, over his ear and down. 

Blinking his eyes open, Steve noticed that Bucky was awake. He slid the Gatorade closer, a new straw tucked into the top. Smiling, Bucky took a sip. The thing still tasted terrible. 

“You don’t happen to have a coke I can wash this down with?” Bucky asked sitting up. He immediately missed the hand in his hair. Sam never pet him. Or, let him sleep in his lap. 

“No, just the Gatorade.” Steve said. But, Sam had soda. 

“We can get you a coke in the club.” Steve continued, sliding Bucky’s folded clothes over to him.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the folded clothes. They were not folded when he took them off. Stretching a bit, he slid his shirt on. After dressing, Steve helped Bucky stand. 

“Call your ride, we can get a coke while we wait for them.” Steve said leading Bucky into the hall and down the stairs.

“Ride?”

“How were you going to get home?” 

“Drive?” Bucky asked. Why was this conversation weird? 

“You can’t drive.” Steve stated. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“Then how will I get my car home?”

“Do you drive home from Sam’s?” 

“Yeah.”

“He lets you?” Steve gasped, and almost tripped on a step.

“It’s not like we spend the night drinking.”

“You spend the night?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, It’s good. I thought you just drive home after. In the morning’s another story. So, are you and Sam dating too? Or just this?”

“We dated for a little while. Now, it’s more like… I don’t know what it’s like. But, Sam’s dating someone else. I think it’s love. He just likes me because I like to get tied up. I guess I’m a hard commodity to find.”

“It is hard to find someone who fits. Especially if you only like to get tied up, no dicks involved.” 

“I never said no dicks. I just said I didn’t want your dick. Whole different story.”

Steve laughed. They emerged into the club, and almost everyone had gone. It was close to morning. Steve got Bucky a coke, and they slumped into a booth. 

“Sorry, to keep you out so late.” Bucky apologized. “I know it was supposed to be a quick gig.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t work set hours.” Steve sipped on a bottle of water. “You looked really wound up when you came in.”

Bucky gave a half smile. “Yeah, I get stuck in my head. I got therapy Wednesdays. And, I got Sam Thursdays. I’m hoping that now he’s dating someone it’s not gonna mess up our regular thing.” He shrugged, and chugged his soda.

“Your week sounds uneven” Steve bit his lip “If you wanted, we could do this again. Maybe even-out your week a bit more.”

“So, you’d be my Monday dude.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky was dying to call Sam and ask about Steve. This week Sam’s time was limited. Out of town for work, Sam spent most of his free time on the phone with his new girl. Bucky was left floundering. The session with Steve had left him calmer. Enough that when he got home, he reassembled his weapon, reloaded the magazine and shoved it into a box under the bed. He wasn’t afraid he would blow his own head off. 

Sam wasn’t at going to be at group therapy Wednesday. He wouldn’t be home till the evening. Bucky found group without Sam, agonizing. Sam was his anchor. Bucky was terrible about discussing his emotions, fears, or the war. With Sam at his side, Bucky found his voice. He knew he shouldn’t rely on him like that. He shouldn’t rely on anyone, but he did. 

Bucky would always love Sam. For a brief few months it was a fierce love, but Bucky was unwell enough that he drug Sam down with him. To save himself, Sam cut Bucky loose. Together they would have both drowned. Bucky didn’t blame him…much. 

Sometimes late at night… when he woke from a nightmare of blood and guts, pain and fire…and the roar of the M60 blocking out all sound. Sweat soaked and shaking, Bucky hid in his closet and wished with his whole heart that Sam had stayed with him. Sam understood.

In the morning light, when Bucky would emerge from his closet, Bucky also understood. Sam had his own nightmares. Sam lost Riley. He had watched the man he loved die in front of him. Sam couldn’t watch, as Bucky struggled day to day with putting a bullet in his own brain. Bucky was too unstable. Sam couldn’t go through that again. Bucky felt guilty when he thought about it. 

Bucky made sure that he stocked up on groceries on Tuesday. He always tried to use his good days well. He knew that leaving the house Wednesday afternoon would be rough. He was right. By Wednesday evening, he ached to call Sam. When he sent his pre-call text, he got back an “x.” It was their code. Their sock on the door. Don’t bother me now, reunion sex is happening.

Flopping back onto the pillow, he threw the phone to the side. Bucky lie in his room and counted the cracks in his ceiling. 

In the morning, a half dozen empty cans littered the coffee table. Bucky sat on the couch, laptop next to him and pen tucked behind his ear. A notebook of ideas and research sat on his other side. He chugged another coke and knew he should get some sleep. His words rarely came easily when speaking, but he had a knack for storytelling. A few of his stories about the war had gotten published. 

It all started with a class at the VA. It was supposed to help him get his feelings out. Once he started, everything flood onto the page like a dam burst. Bucky wondered where he would be if he hadn’t started writing. Sam encouraged it at first. Sometimes Bucky got lost remembering. When things got rough, Bucky obsessively journaled his memories. After a while, Sam changed his mind. He said it wasn’t healthy. Bucky knew Sam was right. Bucky had found a way to lock himself away and not talk to anyone except to Sam and group therapy on Wednesdays. Hours and hours spent writing his experiences. Obsessing over the past, the people he lost, the people he killed, and the horrors he experienced. 

Bucky needed a hobby. He was good with his hands. He used to enjoy working on bikes, and had a few motorcycles over the years. Not now though. Before he shipped out to Afghanistan, he put his bike in storage. When he returned, he couldn’t look at it. He sold it as soon as he got out of the hospital. His left arm was still in a sling, and he was convinced the hand would never function. He wouldn’t be able to clutch or brake. At the time, he was angry. A state of simmering constant rage. The bike gave him one more thing to be angry about. 

Typing furiously, he lost track of time when his phone buzzed. It was Sam, confirming their meeting for the evening. Bucky felt a wave of relief, he hadn’t realized how afraid he was that Sam would cancel. Sam was spending more and more time with that girl, Natasha. Bucky only met her a few times, and he could tell she was not someone he wanted to mess with. At some point, Bucky was afraid she would tell Sam to end this. 

By the evening, Bucky was showered, shaved and ready to roll. He arrived at Sam’s house on time for once, and Sam looked surprised when he tugged the door open, phone to his ear. He was still on the phone with Natasha from the looks of it, and waved Bucky into the guest bedroom. They had a corner set up for this, and Bucky shed his clothes, leaving them on the floor by the door. 

Sam hurried in, “Sorry, Sorry…” he said, and tripped on a boot. He didn’t fully go down, stumbling a few steps, “Fuck, Barnes. Put your shit away. You always dump your clothes by the door like an animal.”

“Animals don’t wear clothes.”

“Shut it.” Sam said, “And why are you still standing?” He checked his watch. “Nat gets off shift at one a.m. Can we be done by then?” 

“Oh. Sure.” Bucky said, getting into position. He had wanted to ask about Steve, and talk about Sam’s trip before they started. But now, they were on the clock. He knew the sessions couldn’t continue when Sam got serious with Natasha. Bucky guessed he might be lucky to have at most one, maybe two more times.

Sam approached with the goggles, sliding them over Bucky’s eyes, blinding him. When Sam secured the black mask in place, Bucky hung his head. Strap by strap, Bucky tried to lose himself as he lost mobility in his limbs. Sam buckled the final strap and Bucky still needed more. Bucky contemplated using the bell. Sam always put a bell in Bucky’s hand. If Bucky dropped the bell everything stopped. 

Giving in, Bucky shook the bell, getting Sam’s attention without dropping it. Sam immediately tugged the mask and goggles free. Bucky winced as Sam yanked a few hairs out in his hurry. 

“You okay, Man?” Sam asked, then reached out to wipe moisture away from the corners of Bucky’s eyes. “Talk to me. Do you need to get this off?” he asked, while he was already moving to undo a buckle.

“No. Sam. It’s not enough.”

Sam stilled. 

“Not enough?” Sam asked, “Tell me what you need.”

“Can I suck you?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.” Sam looked away. 

“You can fuck me.”

“Barnes, I’m trying to help you, but you know we can’t do this.” Sam’s voice was soft. “If you want to be tied up, I can do that. I can give you that. But, not more, okay.”

Bucky nodded, and stared at the floor. He couldn’t look Sam in the eyes. Sam stood up and went to the chest, he came back with something. Bucky couldn’t see what Sam held.

“I can make you feel good though.” Sam said, “Just say the word.” 

“Yeah. Do it.” Bucky said, and Sam put the goggles back over Bucky’s eyes and the mask over his mouth. Sam began to unbuckle Bucky’s ankles and move things around. Strong hands adjusted his legs. Resecured, Bucky found his ankles bound to his thighs. His knees were pushed wide and clipped in place. Cool lube drizzled between his cheeks, dripped from his balls and his soft cock. Sam’s hand pried his cheeks apart, and something cold slid home. Instinctively, he tried to close his legs, but couldn’t. 

Clicking it on, Sam stroked down Bucky’s side. Bucky jerked, felt his whole body flush. His dick twitched. He could feel it get hard. Sam stayed by his side, stroking his hip. Staying near Bucky’s bound hands, Sam was making sure the bell was firmly in place. Even in the dark goggles, Bucky scrunched his eyes closed tight. Noises escaped his clenched teeth. It was still not enough. He was worked up, hard and aching. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Every muscle tense. 

It took an eternity, but Bucky finally let go. He slumped to the side, Sam’s hand still on his hip. Bucky licked his lips, the mask covered his nose and mouth, limited his air. Sometimes it made him feel like he was drowning, sometimes it allowed him to float away. 

Midnight quickly approached. After removing the straps, Sam had given Bucky his coke and blanket. There would be no sleeping over tonight. The straps had been off long enough for Bucky to be okay physically. He would walk home. He didn’t have time to shower, and felt sticky and gross. Sam kept glancing at the clock, anxious for him to leave. Taking the hint, Bucky said goodbye and left the building. Tugging his coat tighter, he barely made it to the corner, when Natasha’s car drove up. He hoped she hadn’t seen him, but he was wrong. She circled back around, and slowed alongside him. Her window rolled down. 

“You need a ride, Barnes?” she asked.

“Thanks, but no. I like to walk.”

“Bullshit. Get in the car, we have to talk.”

He stopped on the sidewalk, and almost contemplated running. He did not want to hear what she had to say. Nothing good could come out of this. Bucky knew he smelled rank. Like sweat and lube. 

Her red hair was up in a neat bun and she was not smiling. She put the car in park, and opened her door. Car still running, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. “We can have this talk out here, and you can walk home. Or, in the car, and I can drop you off at your door.”

When she stepped closer, she wrinkled her nose and scrunched her forehead. “You stink.” She said.

He shrugged, “You still want me in your car? looks expensive.”

“It is expensive. Get in.” she slid behind the wheel. 

He walked around, got in. The seat was tight, his legs felt cramped. Her hand bumped his knee putting the car into gear. 

She kept her eyes on the road as she began. “Sam will always love you. And, though I bet you look great naked, you are not welcome in our bed. Sam has enough heartache. He can’t handle your bullshit. You are one bad day from a meltdown, and until you get your shit together, I want you to stay away. You seem like a good guy, underneath the hair and smell.” She stopped talking for a while. Turning onto his street, she added “Do it for Sam.” She pulled up to Bucky’s building, and he stepped out onto the street. She drove away as soon as the door was closed, no wave, no backwards glance. 

Bucky found himself at his own front door, fumbling the keys. Inside the apartment, he wandered over to the bed. Dropping to the floor, he grabbed the box and tossed it onto the covers.   
Reaching inside, he clicked the magazine out, it dropped to the carpet with a thump. Then he pulled the slide back, ejecting the round. Pulling the barrel free, he tossed the barrel and slide into the closet. The trigger housing he threw out into the living room. He felt the round under his boot as he made his way to the bathroom. Inside, he stripped, stepped into the shower, and leaned against the wall. Numb, he slid down the wall to sit on the floor of the shower. The water grew warm. 

When he finally stepped out, the room was a thick cloud of steam. Dehydrated, he walked to the kitchen. He needed to go to the store. He had planned on Friday being a good day. Friday’s were always the best day of the week. Now the days were turned upside down. 

He popped open a beer, the foam dripped over his thumb, and he downed the whole thing standing in front of the open fridge. Throwing the empty in the general direction of the trash, he reached for another.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Bucky reached into the fridge and the beer was gone. He pushed the catsup and mayo out of the way, but no. No beer. He sat on the floor with his head in his hands, staring at the empty cans near the trash.

Near noon, he tried to make himself a sandwich, but he had no lunch meat either. Or bread. 

Gathering his nerve, he found a hoodie on the floor. Pulling on yesterday’s socks, he got ready to go to the corner store. It was one step up from a convenience store. Locally owned, not a chain. He could walk there from here. Finding his wallet, he counted out how much cash he had on him. His disability check wouldn’t come for another week. He really couldn’t afford to keep drinking like this unless he published something new, or got a job. On his walk, he worried. He should skip the alcohol this trip. It was either that or food. 

If he did get a job, he would need references, and experience. Other than Sam, he didn’t have references that knew him outside therapy. Unless he worked on a rifle range, he didn’t have much experience either. As he approached the store, he paused to look at a floppy puppy. 

When he looked up, he saw a help wanted sign in the window next to a rolling garage door. Not thinking, he pushed open the customer door, and stepped inside. It was just to ask for an application. To see what one looked like, to know the questions. A big bald man had the garage door partially rolled up, and shoved it the rest of the way up. The guy grabbed a box from a stack and loaded it onto a truck. A lady sat behind the front desk with a computer. She was on the phone, and he paused. 

The bald man came around front. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky noticed the guy’s nose was twisted, probably broken once or twice. “You have a help wanted sign out front.”

The guy did a full body appraisal. Up and down, like he was sizing up a horse, “What did you do before?”

“Army. I was the Platoon Sergeant for an Infantry unit.”

“Okay Sarge. Job’s part time. Pay’s only ten bucks an hour, and we meet here at seven a.m. You still up for it?”

“Wait. What?” 

“I know, ten’s not much, but you can make more if you do good work.”

“Don’t I need to fill out an application? A form?”

“Yeah, Lizzie can get you the tax forms when you show in the morning. Bring your social security card.”

The guy started to walk away but turned back, “Geeze, where’s my manners. I’m John by the way.” John held out his hand.

“James Barnes. Most people call me Bucky, not Sarge.” he said as they shook hands.

“Sure thing Bucky. Be here early tomorrow, to fill out the tax forms.” John said as he threw one last box into the truck, and rolled up the door. “I know it’s Saturday, but we got a deadline. And wear steel toe boots if you’ve got em. This shit’s heavy. You’ll break a toe if you drop a box.”

“Sure,” Bucky said and looked at Liz. She was still on the phone and winked at him as he walked back out onto the sidewalk. 

Looking at the front of the building, he realized it was a contractor. Tile and a list of other things. But it looked like they specialized in tile. 

At the grocery store he bought a celebratory six pack. He had a job. What the hell?

The next morning, he wore old combat boots, not sure if they were steel toe or not. Turns out his job is carrying stuff. Lots and lots of heavy stuff. Ladders, boxes, big tubs of grout, and tools that he had no idea what the hell they did. There were about five other guys. They all introduced themselves, but he forgot their names within minutes. The only one he remembered was Corey. The reason he remembered Corey’s name was that he had a great ass and arms that looked like they could hold Bucky down. Bucky was no small dude. 

Turns out Corey is married with two kids. It doesn’t completely knock Bucky out of the picture, but reduces his odds and he knows it. With the nature of Bucky’s job, he didn’t get to spend much time with Corey. Mostly, he works for John who runs the show. 

At five, Bucky walked home. His arms and back were sore. Bucky kept in shape, that was one thing that had gotten better in his time in self-imposed seclusion. He would do push-ups, sit ups, the whole normal daily Army workout, every morning. Even when injured, he just did the exercises he could do, till he could do them all again. He still didn’t have full mobility in most of the fingers of his left hand, but left hands were over rated anyways. Most people couldn’t tell, unless he showed them, and he never did that. 

After work, the guys were all going home to shower and meet at a local bar. It was Saturday night, and they wanted to spend a bit of their overtime cash. Bucky didn’t have cash to spend, but he said he would come out. Maybe if he is lucky, someone will buy him a beer. 

The club wasn’t exactly jumping. It smelled like fried food and spilled beer. The guys were gathered round a table near the back. As they saw Bucky, Corey waived him over. John was missing, and Corey said “John’s a family man, and doesn’t go out drinking with the crew. But, that’s cool. That way we can talk about him.” 

The first beer was on a dude with a thin moustache. Corey bought Bucky a shot. The conversation turned to women, Corey complained about his wife. Mustache complained about his. Corey looked at Bucky and asked about his girl. Fuck it, Bucky wasn’t going to hide “I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Bucky hedged anyways, bravery wavering. “Sam and I are done.”

“Sam? She from around here?”

“He lives ten minutes from here.”

The conversation stopped, everyone stared into their beer.

“Dude, huh?” Corey said. “Is it different getting sucked by a dude than a chick? Or, is a mouth a mouth?”

No one had asked Bucky that before. At least not out loud. The alcohol did the talking for him. “You want to find out?”

Mustache spit out his beer. Corey started to laugh, and everyone nervously followed along, but Bucky. Bucky just tipped the bottle back and took a long slow sip of his beer. 

After the third beer, Bucky headed for the bathroom. He stood taking a piss, staring at the wall. Corey followed him in, stood at the next urinal. Zipping up, Bucky said “You in here to piss, or you looking to get your cock sucked?”

Corey flinched, almost pissed on the wall. “Come on, man. The walls got ears in here.” Corey looked around, tried to get a glance under the stall doors. “Ernesto goes to church with my wife.” 

Mustache is named Ernesto, Bucky tried to remember that. 

They returned to the table, drank till everyone went home. Bucky nursed his last beer for over an hour. Debating, Bucky knew this was a no-win situation. Corey might be willing to explore, but he was still married. Bucky would be fucking up something good. Something with kids. It wouldn’t be the first thing Bucky fucked up, or the last. Bucky had a history of bad decisions. He and Corey danced around the issue for another half hour. Till Bucky finally had enough and leaned close “Come out to the alley behind the club in five.”

Ten seconds of bad decision making, followed by two minutes of bad sex. Corey wasn’t very good, and definitely wasn’t going to reciprocate.

Sleeping through most of Sunday, Bucky barely made it out of bed, and that was just to eat or go to the bathroom.

That Monday, everyone knew. Corey got all freaky when he saw Bucky. He twitched at everything, wouldn’t look Bucky in the eyes, and dropped a box of tools. Ernesto whispered to the group around the coffee pot and that was it. By lunch, everyone looked at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. Bucky ate his lunch alone. 

Monday evening, Bucky stared hard at Steve’s number on his phone.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve said they could be a regular Monday thing. 

Bucky wasn’t sure. Was this now a cash thing? Or, is it just for fun? Sam was for fun. Sam liked strapping people down. Bucky liked to be strapped down. A win for everybody. Except now Natasha is in the mix, and Bucky asked for more than Sam was willing to give. Bucky and Sam were done. 

Still staring at the phone, he bit the bullet and sent Sam a quick text. Bucky told him he got a job. He added that he would be busy for the next couple of weeks, even rescheduling to another group therapy. Checking the message over, he tried to make it sound upbeat. Writing fiction came easily. 

Online, Bucky looked up the other times for group therapy. The website also showed some new classes. The writing class had been great, he could take it again. They also had some art and music classes. He signed up for the art class starting next Wednesday, and rescheduled to the group therapy class on Thursday evenings. 

He didn’t think he would sleep, he had spent almost every night chasing sleep for the past year. Exhausted, his body had other ideas. As soon as he lie on top of the bed he was out, woken in the morning by a blaring alarm. Confused, he pushed the noise away, then realized he had a job. Sitting up, he saw that he was still fully dressed. In the bathroom, the face that stared back looked tired and worn. His arms were sore, and the hot shower helped loosen things up. He should shave, not sure if he should push his luck. John might already be about to fire him for what he did. He didn’t need to give him another reason. 

Hair still wet, and dark stubble in place, Bucky got to the shop five minutes late. If John wasn’t going to fire Bucky for screwing up Corey’s life, he could fire him for being late or looking like a bum. Take your pick. Bucky’s therapist said he is good at making negative outcomes come true. He brings on the bad things that happen by doing things he knows do not bring good results. 

Bucky started doing it because he was convinced he brought on the attack in Afghanistan. No one could convince him otherwise.

Before the attack, he used to make good decisions. He jumped through the ranks because he had his shit together. 

John was loading the truck when Bucky walked through the door. He stood up. The gaggle of guys around the coffee pot froze as John yelled out “Your late.” The coffee pot guys gave each other looks as John growled “Barnes, come into the bay with me.”

Inside the truck bay, John walked up to a stack of boxes. “This shit’s all wrong. Lady wanted a different color, ‘sandy beach’, not ‘sandy rose.’ This job’s big. You drive these boxes back to the distributor, and get the right color. Take my pickup.” He pulled out the keys, put them into Bucky’s hand. “You drive? Right? Nothing bad on your license?”

“I’m good.” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, your good alright.” John glanced around. His voice lowered. “You’ve been on the job two whole fuckin days Barnes, and you have my crew acting like a bunch of middle schoolers. You touch anybody else’s dick and I’m gonna personally kick your ass.”

The door opened and they both stood silently as Lizzie walked in and handed John the invoice for the tile. She winked at Bucky as she walked back out. Bucky hadn’t realized he was smiling till John almost blew a blood vessel. John stepped into Bucky’s face. “You fuck my daughter and I’m gonna do more than kick your ass.” Stepping back, John said “I don’t care who you do what with out in your own life. Just keep your hands to yourself in here.”

On the road, Bucky realized he had been banished. He wondered how long John would keep him on. The drive and the tile switch took most of the morning. By the time Bucky returned, it was lunch time. As Bucky unloaded the tile at the job site, John showed up. Holding out a coffee, he put a hand on Bucky’s elbow. 

Bucky took the coffee and waited. John said, “listen for a second. I gotta apologize. If you and knucklehead wanna touch privates it’s none of my business. But, I am serious about my daughter. You touch her and your gonna need an ambulance. She’s engaged to a plumber. I love that guy like a son.” As Bucky took a sip of the coffee, John opened the box of tile. “Okay, that looks right. Get this up to Ernesto. He’s on the third floor.” 

Time passed differently now. Bucky worked hard and slept hard. The best sleep he’s had since the army. By Thursday evening he was ready to tackle group therapy like a pro. When he stood outside the open door, he realized that the reality was that he was out of his element all over again. All new people, and all new problems. By the end, one guy told a story that made Bucky wince. It was painful to hear. The therapist told him it was good. He said that repressing his memories is not healthy. Easy for that guy to say. Sometimes Bucky prefers repression to the bleeding wound he is left with. He woke up six times that night. Once to puke. The puking left him dazed and shaky, he fell asleep in the bathroom and woke stiff and sore before crawling to bed. 

The next day at work he shivered for hours, even though he wore more layers than all the other guys. Some of the guys looked at him like they thought he was on something. At the end of the day, Bucky volunteered to work Saturday when he realized this was supposed to be a part time gig. John just smiled at him and said he could work however many hours he wanted. 

Monday morning, he stared at Steve’s number again. He had some money this week. He could pay, if that was what Steve wanted. By Monday evening, Bucky was too tired. Maybe he could see if Steve was up for a Saturday evening or Sunday session. Any other night, Bucky wouldn’t be able to function in the morning. 

Wednesday during his lunch break, he bought his supplies for the art class. After work, he turned on the TV and lie on the couch. Waking with a start, he jumped up. He was late. Scrambling out the door, he grabbed his bag and car keys. Pulling in to the parking lot after the class had started, he ran through the halls of the VA. Jerking the door open ten minutes late, he found everyone sitting. Little tables were turned in a circle with a bowl of fruit in the middle. Everyone looked up.

Bucky’s eyes scanned the room, but stopped on Steve. He was sitting at one of the tables. “Hey, Bucky. Have a seat.” Steve said. “You didn’t miss much. We were just introducing ourselves.”

Everyone was staring at him and Bucky realized he was still in the doorway. Edging around the room, he found an empty chair and settled in. The class was just drawing a bowl of fruit for the first lesson. Simple still life. Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to concentrate with Steve moving through the room stopping at each person, giving hints and tips. 

Bucky tried to breathe as Steve stood behind him. “You have a good concept of line, but you need to add more darks. Don’t be timid, press the pencil to the paper.” He put his hand on Bucky’s and together they made a dark line. 

After class, Bucky hung back, waiting till Steve was ready to pack up. Steve spoke first, “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you had group on Wednesday.”

“I switched.” Bucky said from the doorway. 

Steve moved in closer.

Bucky looked at Steve’s pressed slacks and blue collared shirt. There was a hole in the knee of Bucky’s dusty jeans. He tugged on a loose string on the front of his jacket. “I meant to call you about Mondays.” 

Steve looked up and down the hall as they left the classroom. He did it slow and casual, but Bucky realized he shouldn’t be talking about this here. Instead Bucky said “So you teach art?”

“I’m an artist by trade, and I volunteer to teach a few classes. Sometimes to kids, sometimes to Vets. Both have their challenges.”

Outside the building, they walked towards the parking lot. Out under the streetlights, Steve said “If you want to pretend Monday never happened, I’m fine with it. Some people don’t want to blur the lines.”

“Blur the lines?” Bucky laughed. “You got the wrong dude. If you want to keep work and fun separate that’s on you.” Bucky shook his head “I have no lines. I fucked up with Sam, and I sucked a coworker after the first day of work. I think my ability to see the lines is broken.”

“Maybe you need glasses.”

Bucky laughed again, and leaned on his car. Looking around, he leaned closer “I want to do that thing again. But, you look like a guy with a lot of rules.”

“I do have a lot of rules. You think you can follow my rules?”

“Maybe? What happens if I break them?” Bucky asked. 

“Why would you want to do that? It’s much more fun when you follow the rules.”

“Can we set up a time this weekend?” Bucky asked.

“Sure, when do you want?” 

“Saturday night.”

“I’ll see you at the club.”


	5. Chapter 5

Good boots on, jeans without holes, nice shirt. Everything was freshly washed, even his socks. Bucky was ready for his Saturday night. The last two nights Bucky had nightmares. But they were not the puking kind, so he was thankful. Full of nervous energy, he was shaved, showered and ready to roll. This time he caught a cab down to the club. 

At the door, Bucky hesitated. The last time, he was here on a Monday. The club had been quiet. Today, the place was packed. He slid in and stuck to the wall, scanning for Steve. The crowd was diverse, from leather to party dresses. Checking his watch, Bucky braced to wait, he could endure at least a minute or two. He didn’t want to bail, but he didn’t know how long he could endure. This crowd was too much.

The guy with one eye spotted him and walked closer. “You looking for Steve again?”

“You know everyone in here?”

“I try to.” He said scanning the room. “Steve is putting his foot locker away. He should be down in a minute.”

As Bucky turned to face the stairwell, Steve stepped out. He wore a pale green button-down shirt. The club was loud, and when Steve got to them, he leaned close to say “you look nice,” right into Bucky’s ear. He said it low and quiet. His breath tickled Bucky’s sideburn. 

Tugging his collar, Bucky turned away, and grinned. 

Steve led him to another room this time. As they made their way down the hall a door popped open and a man stumbled out. The sounds of sex immediately hit Bucky. Rhythmic gasps were punctuated with the slap of skin on skin. The door clicked closed, and they were left in silence again. The man passed them in the hall and Bucky got a whiff of lube and strawberries. Possibly, strawberry lube. Bucky pulled at his damp collar. He was wearing too many layers again. 

All the doors in the hall looked the same. Opening one, Steve waited for Bucky to get in. Steve pulled it closed behind them with a soft click. This room was almost the same, only the scuffs and scratches were in different places. The room had what looked like a trailer hitch hooked to the wall and a few other metal rings. Walking closer, Bucky touched one.

Steve looked up, “Did you want to be suspended? Or bound to the wall?”

“What? No.” Bucky jerked his hand away, shoving it in his pocket, his mouth was dry.

“That’s fine. I just brought the ropes for what we did before. But if you want anything else, I can do a little research and get back to you.”

“No. I just want what we did last time. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” Steve smiled.

Bucky didn’t like that tone. “What?” he asked.

“You should have seen the work I had on you last week. Simple but beautiful. You looked amazing.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. 

Steve added, “but you look amazing without the rope.” He said with a shrug.

Bucky blushed. He could feel his face heat up. He fiddled with the zipper on the front of his jacket, to have something to do with his hands. 

“You can get undressed.” Steve said. “Kneel in the middle.”

Fumbling the zipper on the jacket, he tugged it off. Pulling all three shirts off as one unit, Bucky dropped them on top of his jacket. Steve was watching him, and Bucky tried not to look up. As Bucky kicked off his boots, Steve said “I would love to draw you some time. Would you model for me?”

“You wanna draw me naked?” Bucky asked, one sock in hand.

“Or, with clothes. However you’re comfortable.”

Unbuttoning his jeans, Bucky asked “What about in the ropes?”

“Yeah.” Steve breathed the word out. “I would love to draw you bound in my ropes.” 

“Knock yourself out.” Bucky said, dropping his jeans. 

“Now?”

“If you got paper in that trunk, why not?”

Beaming, Steve crossed his arms. “I have lots of things in there.”

Smile firmly in place, Steve guided Bucky to where he wanted him. Steve kept his hand on Bucky’s elbow as he knelt. When Bucky was in place, Steve stepped behind him. Dark fabric draped over Bucky’s eyes. Tugging it back off, Steve wound it a bit more.

Gentle fingers pushed Bucky’s hair behind his ears. “I want to be able to see your face,” he said tying the blindfold over Bucky’s eyes. 

On his knees, Bucky felt Steve’s strong hands adjust his arms. The rope wound over him. Loop after loop, Bucky felt the tight immobilization begin to work its way across his chest and arms. He gave a slow flex to his shoulders, and couldn’t budge the ropes. He felt sweat prickle at his temples. Cool air brushed his chest as Steve moved back to the box for something else. This time, instead of binding Bucky’s ankles together, Steve tugged Bucky’s knees wider. Then, he slid padding first under one, then the other. Knees spread, Bucky was still up right. His feet were getting tired and his bent toes ached. Usually, Sam has him lie on his side. 

Just as Bucky debated arguing the position, Steve was at his front, hands on Bucky’s shoulders. 

“I want to tip you forward.” Steve said “Relax. I won’t let you fall.” 

Instinct kicked in as Steve tugged him forward, and Bucky resisted. Steve held firm. His voice was soft. “You’re okay. Just relax. I got you.” And he began tipping Bucky forward again. When he reached the floor, Steve let Bucky’s chest rest on something soft. Gentle hands turned his face to the side. There was a pillow under his cheek. It smelled like lavender. Stroking his hair, Steve pushed it off his face, tucking most behind his ear. Fingers trailed down his neck, strong hands adjusted Bucky’s back. “Perfect,” he said.

The last time Bucky was in this position, there was no rope, but there was a dude balls-deep in his ass. Bucky tried to remember that guy’s name. It happened the week after Sam told him they were done having sex. Bucky went to a club and drank till he could forget, then brought some random dude home. The guy was strong. He held both of Bucky’s hands behind his back and fucked like a piston. 

Steve’s hands were gone, and Bucky could feel himself getting hard. There was still movement in the room. The crisp drawing paper made air brush over Bucky’s sweaty back as Steve turned pages. Once settled, the pencil rasped over rough paper. Bucky’s dick twitched. It was getting hard and he kept trying to focus on something else. But there was nothing else, just himself naked and on display. Steve was inches away, not touching just staring. Letting out a shaky breath, Bucky tried to get himself under control. 

“Color?”

“Huh?” Bucky thought he heard Steve say something.

Steve dropped the paper “Color, Bucky?”

“Oh, Green.”

“You’re sure? You’re breathing hard. I was starting to get worried.”

“That’s not the only thing hard.” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah. I changed the dynamic. Sorry. Do you want me to put the paper away?” Steve asked.

“I want you to put your dick in me.” 

Seriously, Steve said, “You said to keep my dick away from you.”

Groaning, Bucky ground his face into the pillow. “I changed my mind. Are you gonna leave me hanging?” Shoving his face around, Bucky pushed the blindfold crooked, but he still couldn’t see.

He flinched when he felt Steve’s hand on his ass cheek. “Is this another one of your terrible decisions? Bucky, I don’t want you to regret this later.”

“I won’t. Steve, Please.”

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“No. Definitely not.” Bucky tipped his ass up, widening his knees. 

“Only if you stay with me. I need to make sure I don’t hurt you.” Steve put his hand over Bucky’s bound hands. 

His slacks brushed against Bucky’s ass, and Bucky groaned “Please, Steve. Whatever you want. Please.”

Steve moved away, there was the sound of cloth and a zipper. Returning, Steve popped the cap of something he squirt out. Then Bucky felt the cool fingers start to open him up. He moaned low on every exhale. It wasn’t long before the crinkle of a condom wrapper and Steve was there. One hand on Bucky’s hip, the blunt tip of Steve’s dick circled his hole.

“I’m pretty hung.” Steve said and Bucky let out a surprised laugh. 

“That didn’t sound vain at all. I’ve been fucked before, big guy. Just do it.”

“I meant, I’m going to go slow. If it hurts, tell me to wait. Don’t try to tough it out.”

“Sure. Just do it already.” Bucky’s dick throbbed, hard and ready.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hips, pulling his ass up. Then a hand pressed his shoulders down, and Steve pushed in. Mouth opening, Bucky stopped breathing. Steve gave another slow push and instinct made Bucky slide forward to get away. 

Tugging back out, Steve pat Bucky’s side. Fingers slipping back into Bucky. “Easy, easy. Breathe.” 

Bucky sucked in a lungful of air. “Oh, fuck.” He gasped.

“I told you.” Steve sounded angry. “I should have prepped you more. I’m sorry.”

Bucky tried to push the blindfold off, he wanted to get a look at Steve’s dick. He gave up and went limp as Steve’s fingers slid deeper. Strong fingers rubbed hard and Bucky shuddered, letting out another low moan. Rubbing the perfect spot, Steve added another finger. Bucky didn’t know how long he was going to last. 

“Don’t come.” Pulling his hand out, Steve slapped Bucky’s ass and moved away. It stung. His heart started to race, and he felt a spike of fear. Bucky had never tried to get off on pain, and froze hoping Steve hadn’t gone to get a whip or paddle. They had not discussed this. 

Frozen, Bucky felt helpless, exposed and bound. He shivered realizing that he didn’t know anything about Steve. The guy was a stranger. Bucky was trapped and alone. Turned around in an endless hall of unmarked doors. 

Steve returned and squirted more lube onto his fingers. He worked his fingers in, scissoring them. More lube. Steve had just gone for more lube. Bucky had gone soft in his moment of blind panic. Kneading Bucky’s ass, and rubbing his hand over the small of Bucky’s back Steve was a calming presence. After a few deep breaths, Bucky let out a low moan as Steve’s fingers had his dick firming up again. 

“I’m going to try again.” Steve said, then he was back at Bucky’s hole. A firm hand on Bucky’s hip, and Steve pushed in. “Color?”

“Green” Bucky said. His voice came through grit teeth. 

Steve gave a few shallow thrusts, then pushed all the way in. Bucky lie there panting. Steve held his hips still, draped over Bucky’s back waiting. A bead of sweat rolled down Bucky’s temple. Breathing hard through his open mouth, it felt like he couldn’t get enough air. It took a few seconds for his locked muscles to relax. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky said, “Okay, I’m okay.” Bucky groaned “But, go slow.” 

Steve rocked his hips and Bucky cried out. 

Shuddering, Bucky said “Ohh, fuuck.” The words rolled out low and long, turning into a moan at the end and Steve rolled his hips again. After a few more slow rolls, Steve adjusted his stance, and picked up the pace. Stroking long and deep, Steve was a quiet fuck, only breathing hard. The room was filled with the sound of Bucky’s cries and slapping flesh. Every thrust punched a noise from him, ratcheting higher and higher as Steve fucked harder. 

Bucky shook apart, came gasping and moaning, his dick never touched. Steve kept going till Bucky was limp and too sensitive. His moans and gasps turned to soft cries, when Steve finally came with a few more hard, deep thrusts. Bucky’s legs had turned to jelly. His arms were numb behind his back, and his cheek felt like it had rug burn from the pillow. The pillow was damp from sweat and drool.

Pulling out, Steve lie next to Bucky panting. Collapsed on the floor, Bucky wanted to pass out and sleep for a year. Bucky did lose a bit of time. He didn’t remember being untied. He did remember when Steve wiped him down with a damp washcloth. The cool water woke him a bit, then Steve tried to push another Gatorade on him. Red this time. Bucky gave a weak push at the drink, red was worse than orange.

“Well, what flavor do you like?”

“Coke flavor.”


	6. Chapter 6

When they emerged into the club, it was still packed. Bucky wanted to slip out quietly. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Steve insisted on driving him home. 

It was gentlemanly. 

Bucky resisted. It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t had a list of guys in his bed. This was different. Bucky didn’t want Steve to see his dump of an apartment. It wasn’t the apartment that was a dump. The physical building had character, tall windows, and wide crown molding. It was made in another time, when people valued beautiful wood floors and high tin ceilings. 

When someone else moved in, Bucky didn’t doubt it could look great. With him, it was filthy. Trash strewn floor, unwashed sheets and clothes everywhere. Beer and soda cans, both empty and half full littered every surface. Recently, he had gotten better. In the last few weeks since starting the job, he took out the trash bag twice. That was more than he done the entire month before. He had washed his clothes too. Each day of work left him ripe. He used to wear the same shirt for a week. Now, he can’t wear a shirt again if he wore it to work, or he offends himself. He even showers nightly. The apartment, however was still embarrassing. Bucky wondered why he was never embarrassed when it looked worse. 

Steve walked him right to his door. Bucky expected a kiss goodnight, and was disappointed when Steve didn’t even try. They both stood awkwardly at the door while Bucky unlocked it, then Bucky hastily said goodnight and rushed inside. Locking the deadbolt, Bucky leaned against it. 

No kiss goodnight. Is this a big deal? It felt backwards. Fuck first then worry about a kiss. 

That was the problem. He was worried. His mind went over it and over it. Did he say something weird? Did he do something weird? Was he a terrible lay? Was it the scars? 

His mind always fixated on the scars. It was the scars. He was convinced no one would want him. At least not full time. No lasting relationships. Just a quick lay. That’s why Bucky prefers to leave his shirt on. He wondered if Steve drew the scars. Bucky hadn’t asked to see the drawing. Steve had offered, but Bucky shook his head and turned away, then hurried back into his clothes. He was afraid of how others see him. Steve especially. 

Sunday was a haze of alcohol and sleeping. 

Playing and replaying the events of Saturday night, he tried to piece it back together. Lying in bed, he still didn’t remember being untied, but afterwards, he remembered Steve’s hands. Long slow strokes, Steve’s hands massaged Bucky’s muscles. His legs, back and arms. Both arms. 

Firm grip, from shoulder to palm. On the palms he stopped, rubbed slow circles. Bucky’s involuntary grunts and moans followed the long strokes. When Steve started the left arm, his grip was not as intense, and Bucky’s winces where enough to have him gentle his hold even more. Hovering in the place between dreaming and awake, he could feel how Steve’s hands drifted over the scars. Soft and gentle, he ran his hand down the forearm to the palm. There Steve ran his fingertips down the stiff pinky of Buckys’ left hand, before moving on. Steve brushed his fingers over Bucky’s hair. 

Sitting up in bed, Bucky’s eyes popped open. Steve knew. 

The scars, the injury, Steve now knew it all. The long hair hid the scars on the side of Bucky’s skull. The layers of clothes hid the scars on his body. Putting the hand in his pocket can hide the three unmoving fingers of his left hand. 

Steve had seen him exposed and naked. 

While stroking his hair, Steve’s hand had lingered at the scar near Bucky’s temple. The physical evidence of his traumatic brain injury that had him forgetting his own name every morning for two months. Sometimes he still wakes in a cold sweat, afraid he has forgotten everything all over again. 

When Steve thought Bucky was sleeping, his fingers traced the scars. The feeling of Steve’s hands carding through his hair made him drift, but he had been aware.

Just under the surface, he was awake. 

By Sunday evening he remembered most of Saturday. He still didn’t remember being untied. 

Monday, he was a wreck. Almost an hour late, he stumbled in to work. The office was empty, except for Lizzie. She hung up her phone when he came in. “They’ve already gone to the job site.” She said standing. “You look like shit.”

She came around the counter and gave him the once over, just like her dad did when he was hired. “I told Dad you called in sick.” 

“Thanks” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his coat pocket.

“I’m not covering for you again. You gotta get it together.” She walked to the coffee pot, “Here, have some coffee, and come sort these stupid invoices. I’ll tell dad you ate something bad and didn’t want to lift heavy boxes all day. You do look kinda green.” She slid behind the desk and pulled out a thick stack of jumbled papers. She thumped the stack onto a low table with chairs. The table was covered with tile samples, which she dumped onto an empty chair. “Sort them into piles by vendor. Then by date.” 

He slid into the chair, and she wrinkled her nose. “You reek,” she said. “If Dad comes back for anything, tell him your stomach hurts and hide in the bathroom. I don’t want him to smell you.” She plopped back into her chair, and picked up the phone. 

The invoices swam in front of his eyes. The logos were distinct colors. Once he noticed that, it made sorting easier. By the time he had to sort by date, the coffee had worked a bit. More alert, he was almost able to sort and listen to Lizzie’s conversation. He tried to be nosy, but the girl on the other end did most of the talking. Something about a husband hanging out with his friends too much. 

When he finished, Lizzie came over and inspected his work. She thumbed through the stack, then gave him an accordion file to stick everything into. John walked in as Lizzie was dropping off another long neglected stack of papers. Bucky jumped up, to head for the bathroom, but he rocked his coffee. Reaching out, he tried to grab it with his left, but it didn’t want to listen. He batted it onto the chair of samples. 

Angrily, John strode closer. 

“I got it,” Lizzy hissed in his ear, giving him a push toward the bathrooms. He practically ran to the bathroom. Inside he could hear John’s angry voice yelling, but not the words. Lizzie yelled right back, and Bucky thought he could weep. The yelling petered out. In the silence, Bucky sat on the toilet lid debating if it was safe to come out. 

A soft rap came from the door, and Bucky jumped. “He drove away,” she said. 

He clicked open the door. She added “I told him you have diarrhea. He knows it’s a lie, but what’s he going to do? Sit in the bathroom with you?”

“Thanks, again.” Bucky said, “I appreciate it.”

“You could show your appreciation by never showing up to work like this again.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Well, try,” she said, then led him to a computer. “You know how to use a computer right?” He had the feeling he was doing all her work for the week, but she covered for him, so he owed her. While he sat behind the computer at her desk, she lounged in the customer area on her cell phone. Putting the invoices into the computer turned out to be a gravy job. He answered four phone calls. Since he was now familiar with the job, he helped the customers like a pro. Around ten, Lizzie said she needed to go to the post office, and she might not be back for a while. 

Lizzie had been gone for close to three hours, and John surprised Bucky when he pulled up and headed into the shop. Bucky jumped up to hide, but the phone rang. He answered it and a woman had a million questions. John walked past without saying a thing, then came back out with his lunch. Standing near the desk, he stared at Bucky while the lady spoke. Bucky started to sweat. He felt like he might be a little nauseous after all. The woman finally ran out of questions, and Bucky slowly hung up. 

“You got a stomach bug?” John asked.

“No, sir.”

“Just hung over.” John answered his own question. His eye had a twitch.

Bucky hung his head, “yes, sir”

“Any customers come in?”

“Just on the phone.”

“Don’t let this happen again.” He said, then left the building.

Bucky slumped back into his chair, just in time for a customer to come into the shop. The lady with the million questions had showed up, and wanted him to show her samples. It was a long afternoon. Lizzie returned minutes before the truck from the job site. She shoed Bucky from her chair and sent him home. As he walked out the door, he saw John’s white van pull up. 

John walked towards Bucky, “Hold up.” John called out.

Pausing, Bucky turned. John asked, “You got normal feet?”

“Yeah.” Bucky said, with a raised eyebrow.

“I paid the shoe store on the corner. You take this voucher and get some steel toe boots. I don’t need you losing a toe. Them army boots aren’t going to cut it.” John said.

Bucky had to swallow the lump in his throat.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky got home and stomped around the apartment in his new boots. They were tan and bulky, but fit like a glove. These were expensive boots. Bucky sneaked a peek at the tags when he was trying them on. 

According to the receipt, John had bought the darn things on Saturday. It was possibly why he was so pissed off with Bucky on Monday. The guy does something nice, and Bucky shows up late and hung over. 

Flopping on the bed, Bucky lie spread eagle, boots still on. He woke that way in the morning, and panicked that he would be late again. Scrambling for his watch, he was relieved. It was early. Plenty of time to shower and look presentable. It was even early enough to have a leisurely breakfast. Bowl of cereal in hand, he sat at his laptop. Poking the mouse, he woke it up, and realized he had ten minutes to make it to work. He jumped up, checked his watch. It had stopped hours ago. Snatching it off, he took the time to stomp on it with his good boots. 

He arrived right on time, and everyone stared as he walked through the door. 

John walked up while sipping his coffee “You look better.” He took another slow sip, then blew on the cup. “I looked over your work from yesterday.” He looked Bucky in the eyes. “You may look like a bum, but I know a smart guy when I see one. As soon as you said you was an NCO, I knew. I was in the Army too. Got out after four years as a Specialist.” He led Bucky away from the gaggle of men talking football by the coffee pot. “I had planned on giving you a raise. Now, I’m torn. You got smarts, but yesterday I was ready to send you packing. You get a raise if you can keep from screwing up for a month. I bump you up to fifteen an hour, and start to teach you the craft. How does that sound?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice. 

“Also, I want you to put the invoices into the computer at the end of each day. You leave the job site an hour early, get back to the office. Okay?”

Glancing at Lizzie, John added, “She’s leaving when you show up. She’s got appointments. A wedding to plan. You’ll man the shop alone.”

Bucky stewed on that as they worked. A possible raise, working in the office, less time lifting crappy boxes. Everything was looking up in the work area. Now, he needed to get a handle on his personal life. 

That night he threw all the trash away from his counter, and washed his sheets. He couldn’t remember the last time he washed them, and they smelled funky and felt stiff. In a pile on the floor, they looked like they could walk away. 

Pulling them from the dryer, they smelled like flowers. After making the bed, he gave in to the urge. Slid into the bed and rolled around on them, buried his face in the sweet-smelling pillow. He almost fell asleep, but he wasn’t done. He cleared off the coffee table, then started reading a sci-fi novel he had put off for a while. It wasn’t bad. 

Wednesday evening was his art class. Bucky was nervous. But, this wasn’t the first time he had to deal with someone he had made a bad decision with. Hell, he worked with Corey every day. The guy still avoids Bucky like the plague, but they make due. 

Steve’s smile lit up when Bucky walked in. Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with the attention. Steve also awkwardly hovered nearby as he worked. Finally, he moved closer telling Bucky again to use more darks. He leaned over Bucky’s back. Reaching out, he placed his warm hand on top of Bucky’s, to guide the pencil in a dark stroke. 

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest. His pants felt tight, and his breathing was a little off. Standing back up, Steve said, “Can you see the difference?”

Mute, Bucky nodded. Then spent the next few minutes getting himself under control while Steve moved on to the next student.

When class ended, Bucky had a drawing that he wasn’t embarrassed by. It might go on his refrigerator. As he packed up, Steve hovered nearby. They walked out together in silence. In the parking lot, Steve tugged Bucky’s elbow to get him to stop, then stepped into his space. Their eyes locked. Hand moving to Bucky’s hip, Steve leaned closer. Bucky’s hands clutched the front of Steve’s leather jacket, tugging him in then Bucky kissed him. Steve crowded him against the car, and the kiss turned fierce. A man yelled “Get a room!” from across the parking lot, and they separated. Steve spun around searching for the source. Bucky leaned back, taking a ragged breath and rubbing the back of his hand over his lips. 

A car started in the distance, and the guy drove away. Steve leaned close again, putting his hand on the side of Bucky’s face. “Come home with me.” Steve said.

“What?” 

“Is that too forward? Do you want to date first?” Steve stepped back, his hand slid to Bucky’s arm. 

“Like dinner and a movie?”

“Yeah. Anything you want.”

“I ate supper before coming here.” He blurted out.

“Oh,” Steve said disappointed, and Bucky could kick himself.

“How about ice cream?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Then we can go back to your place.” Bucky added, proud of himself.

Steve’s voice dropped low “Okay, Yeah.” He leaned in and kissed at Bucky’s neck, turned Bucky’s legs to jelly. 

Bucky followed Steve to the Ice Cream shop where they got a few pints to go. Back at Steve’s place, Steve tuck a spoon into his pint of strawberry and fed it to Bucky. Licking his lips, Steve kissed Bucky breathless. Pints of ice cream forgotten, they stumbled towards the bedroom, shedding clothes on their way. 

In the bedroom, Bucky finally saw Steve naked. “You’re hung like a horse.” He gasped. 

Steve smiled wickedly, pushing Bucky onto his back “You took it like a champ.” He rubbed himself against Bucky’s leg, and kissed his neck.

“Oh crap, you’re not even fully hard yet.” Steve slid down Bucky and licked up his shaft. Bucky moaned, twisting his fingers in the sheets.

Standing, Steve got something from the nightstand “Get on your back in the middle of the bed.”

Warming some lube in his hands, Steve sucked Bucky while stretching him. Sliding back up, they kissed for a while, slow and easy. Steve kept the fingers of one hand moving inside Bucky, pushing and circling. Opening him slowly. Pulling away, Steve rolled a condom on. “Hold your knees up.” 

Pushing in, Steve almost bent Bucky in half, then after waiting only a half a second, started a bruising pace. Pushing Bucky’s knees higher, Steve hit the right spot and Bucky gasped. Smiling, Steve fucked hard, holding that position and hitting that spot every time. Bucky writhed under him, hands grabbing the sheets and twisting. This time Steve came first, and he jerked Bucky firm and fast. Bucky arched off the bed with a shout. Slowly Steve slipped out, and lie next to Bucky smiling. Still breathing heavy, Steve shouted “The ice-cream,” and dashed from the room. 

Bucky lie spread eagle, panting. His dick gave a residual twitch, softening. 

Naked, Steve leaned against the door with a bowl in his hand. “It’s soft. Want some?”

“Yeah, bring me some.” Bucky held out his hand. It had a fine tremor. 

“No.” Steve said walking closer, “not like that.” Then he took the spoon and dripped some on Bucky’s nipple licking it off. Bucky shivered and Steve fed Bucky a spoon full. Drip after drip Steve moved lower. Hovering over Bucky’s limp cock, he scooped a dollop, and dripped it on. Jerking up, Bucky kneed Steve in the side of the head, sending him off the bed. Gasping, Bucky wiped the ice cream off and cradled his junk. 

“Fuck, that’s cold.” Bucky grumbled.

“That was not how it goes in the movies.” Steve said using his hands to scoop the ice cream back into the bowl. 

“What movies do you watch?” Bucky grumbled, then paused as Steve licked the ice cream from his fingers. “There’s ice cream porn?” 

“There’s everything porn.” Steve crawled closer. “Let me clean that up.” His hot tongue licked up Bucky’s thigh. Lying back, Bucky’s legs fell open. Long slow licks. Steve started low, thighs, balls then finally as Bucky’s dick started to thicken, he licked that. Bucky’s moans started low and breathy, then grew louder as Steve worked. 

Sliding a finger in, Steve rubbed inside, sending a shudder through Bucky. He did it again, harder. “I love the way you moan.” Steve said, then sucked Bucky’s dick into his mouth, adding another finger. 

Bucky moaned louder. When Bucky was close, he tried to give Steve the courtesy tap. Steve just sucked harder. Rubbed harder. He had Bucky seeing stars as he came, then sat up and jerked off onto Bucky’s stomach. He flopped down next to Bucky. They lie side by side panting hard. 

“Does this count as our fourth date?”

“Maybe? I don’t know? Why?”

“Cause I was wondering if it’s too soon to ask you to move in?”

“With you?”

“No. I have some complete stranger I want you to live with.” 

Steve propped himself on an elbow and looked down at Bucky. “Yes, with me.”

Steve leaned in to lick at a sticky nipple. He raised his eyebrows when Bucky didn’t answer. “We could do this every night.” Steve added, unsure. 

“I don’t know, Steve. You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Do you?” Bucky sat up, and moved away. He set his feet on the carpet and put his head in his hands. “The night we met, I was close to putting a bullet in my head. I have nightmares almost every night. I fuck everything up. I almost got fired Monday. He should have fired me. I like you. I don’t want to fuck this up. And, I really, really don’t want to take you down with me.”

“I’m not saying I can fix any of that. I just want to be with you. If you’re not ready and if this is too soon, I can wait. I will wait however long it takes.”

“So, you won’t be pissed if I say no?”

“I won’t be pissed. But, if we’re being honest, I will be disappointed.” Steve knelt behind Bucky afraid to touch his back. 

Turning, Bucky looked Steve in the eyes. “This doesn’t freak you out?” he pointed to the scarring. 

Steve leaned in and kissed his shoulder, “It makes me sad that it happened to you. Are you telling the truth when you said it doesn’t still hurt?”

“No.” Bucky answered. “It hurts all the time.”


	8. Chapter 8

They sat side by side for a while, till Steve coaxed Bucky back into bed. As they drifted to sleep, Bucky sat up. “You have an alarm clock?” he asked.

“I set my phone.” Steve said.

“Not good enough. I sleep through the phone alarm all the time.”

“I’ll make sure.” Steve tugged Bucky back down. 

“I almost got fired Monday. You gotta wake me.” He said, setting the alarm on his own phone.

At three in the morning, Steve woke to an empty bed. He sat up, and looked around the room. Bucky’s pants still lay on the floor next to Steve’s shoes. Standing, Steve noticed a shape in the shadows of the corner, near his dresser. Bright blue eyes glimmered from the darkness. 

Kneeling in front of Bucky, Steve said “Hey, Buck. You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” 

Bucky was sitting on the floor, his arms wrapped around his bent legs. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes followed Steve. 

“I’m no expert, But, I would say you don’t.” Steve sat on the floor. “Did you have a dream?”

He huffed out an angry laugh “Dream? I dream every night.”

“Have you tried to talk to someone about them?”

“I used to see the VA shrink three times a week. I think he was going to commit me. Lock me up. So, I started to lie. Now, I’m down to group once a week.”

“You lie to your shrink?”

“He works for the VA. He was cool with it. It’s less work for him.”

“Then he was a bad shrink. You need to see someone else.”

“No. The VA is swamped. There are guys out there with real problems. We had one guy, lost both legs, and part of an arm. That dude deserves the resources. If they got one good shrink, that guy deserves to see him.”

“You deserve to see a good shrink too.” Steve shifted, his legs ached. 

Bucky remained silent. He hadn’t moved a muscle since Steve sat here. Steve inched closer, and touched Bucky’s arm. Bucky flinched cringing, and made a soft pained sound. 

Pulling his hand back “Sorry, sorry.” Steve said. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you a blanket?”

“I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“How much sleep did you get?” 

“I don’t know? Couple hours.”

“How much do you usually get?”

“Couple hours. Sometimes more. Work helps. Gets me exhausted, so I sleep hard. And after being bound, I sleep the whole night.”

“Let me try something.” Steve stood and left the room. Returning with a short length of rope Steve said, “Give me your wrists.”

Hesitating, Bucky slowly unfolded himself then held his wrists in front of him. Steve looped the rope around twice, then held the rope. There was no knot. Only Steve’s hand. 

“Is that enough?” Steve asked, “or, do you need it tighter?”

“It’s good.” Bucky said, his eyes focused on the rope. “They used rope.”

“Who?”

“The insurgents. They left me tied and blindfolded in a shitty barn.”

Steve let the rope go, he started to untie Bucky.

“Don’t.” Bucky said. 

“No. I’m not going to help you hurt yourself.”

“Please. You have to leave it.” Bucky whispered. “When they untie you, it’s to cut your head off.”

“Is this what you do? You re-live the trauma? Bucky, you need a professional for this.”

“It’s not like that. Here, I control it. When I tell you to let go, you do right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sam too. He knows. No matter what, I can always trust Sam.”

Steve was left holding the loose short length of rope. Arms still extended, Bucky’s hands began to shake. He held his wrists together and up to Steve. Accepting the offering, Steve wrapped one loop around Bucky’s wrists and twisted the rope once, holding the twist in his fist. The minutes ticked past and Steve had to switch his hold a few times, but Bucky never moved. 

Checking the clock, Steve shifted and Bucky snapped awake. He hadn’t realized he fell asleep. Steve asked, “We’ve been down here close to an hour. You want to try the bed?” 

“I need to piss.” Bucky said.

Steve removed the rope, and Bucky used the wall to stand. “Fuck, my legs are asleep.” Bucky grumbled, as he staggered towards the bathroom. 

When he came back out, Steve was in the bed, watching. Steve’s forehead was wrinkled and his mouth was turned down. He smiled as Bucky approached. Bucky could tell it was fake. 

Scooping his underwear from the floor, Bucky sat on the bed. “I shouldn’t have told you.” He slipped them on, and reached for his pants. “If this is too much for you, I understand.”

Reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s wrist, Steve stopped him from putting his pants on. “I was in Iraq in 2012, and Afghanistan in 14.”

“No way.” Bucky said. “Doing what?”

“I commanded a special detachment.”

“In the Army? Who were they?”

“The Howling Commandos.” Steve said, reaching out to grab Bucky’s wrist. 

Bucky found himself standing over Steve. “It was you?” Bucky breathed, stepping back. 

Steve stood, stepped closer.

“Did you know?” Bucky asked.

“That you were one of the guys we got out?” Steve asked. “No, not till you told me you were a prisoner. You were the worst one, all bloodied and burnt.” Steve turned away, angrily swiping a tear. “I thought you weren’t going to make it. To this day, I thought you died. Your real name’s James right?”

“James…”

“Buchanon Barnes” Steve finished. “It was on your dog tags, and you kept repeating it.” Steve started to weep. “I held your hand and you just said your name rank and serial number over and over. You were so out of it, but you wouldn’t let go, and I didn’t want to leave you. When the chopper arrived, the medics had to pry your hand loose.”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s arm. “Hey, I’m okay.”

“You said you were going to kill yourself?” Steve scowled at him. “I had to go behind enemy lines to get your stupid ass out. You better not even think anything like that ever again, or I will kick your ass.”

“You didn’t just save me. You saved the whole unit. You can’t threaten me, you ass. Plus, you already thought I was dead.”

The alarm clock went off, and Bucky stomped away. They didn’t say much after that, and Bucky showered, hurrying home to change for work.

On Friday, John gave Bucky a dollar raise anyways. He said it was for working on the invoices. 

A month later, Steve carried his last box into Bucky’s apartment. Cleaned up it turned out to be the nicer of the two. When all the drapes were open, the afternoon light was amazing. Steve kept an easel set up in the corner. They both flopped onto the couch and held hands, smiling at each other with big grins. Steve said, “Hey, you know how you said I went behind lines to save the whole unit?” He looked away, “I didn’t.”

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Well, back at a Baghdad chow hall, I saw you. You had this slick haircut, and big smile. All the guys hung around you like you were the shit. I listened from the side, and you were telling some ridiculous story. It was about a goat. I had the biggest crush on you. Every night you ate supper at the same time, and I tried to be there to admire the view.”

“You were there?”

“Then when I heard your unit was taken, I may have left my assigned route and gone to find you.” 

Bucky shook his head, looked into Steve’s eyes and pulled him in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I’m not an expert in anything. Take everything in this story with a grain of salt.  
> 


End file.
